


Divine Hammer

by Neurocrat



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Best superpowers for banging, Consentacles, M/M, Non-Human Genitalia, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-16 00:46:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19307221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neurocrat/pseuds/Neurocrat
Summary: “Shouldn’t we retire to the bedroom? It’s quite a bit easier horizontal—”“Nahh, c’mon, live a little. Right here, right now. We’ll try it with rose petals and candles sometime later,” said Crowley.





	Divine Hammer

 

Crowley's jacket and shirt were long gone, and he was trying to get inside of Aziraphale's waistcoat and shirt and tie and (sigh) undershirt, fumbling with buttons and ties and cloth while they kissed. Aziraphale made a little gasp and mumbled for Crowley to "take care about the teeth!" But Crowley hadn't even broken the skin; he would've tasted the blood. Angels were sensitive.

Shirts finally gotten inside, Crowley ran his nails through Aziraphale's chest hair - a nice detail, and a really glaring sign of Aziraphale's forbidden love affair with Earth: Crowley was pretty sure no other celestial being made that much of an effort to blend in with the local fauna. But these last five minutes had already been enough romantic foreplay for Crowley. He rested his fingers on the fastening of Aziraphale's pants and said, "May I?"

"Oh - yes, just give me a moment," said Aziraphale. It'd been a while, and there was just no reason to carry around all that baggage down there, most of the time. His eyes unfocused as he brought up some reference images in his mind, striving for realism. He tried to aim for somewhere between Michelangelo's Adam in the Sistine Chapel ceiling and those phallic deities in the Secret Room of the Pompeii museum. Oh, right – and make sure it’s erect. That was important. “All right,” he said finally, smiling nervously.

Crowley crouched down in front of him, gazing up at him and making a rather dramatic show of kissing where Aziraphale’s navel should have been. Drat – something else Aziraphale generally didn’t bother with. _Oh well, it was a little late now_ , he thought.

Crowley was similarly cutting corners, because he was a lazy bastard and very proud of it: He thought about using his teeth to undo Aziraphale’s pants, but balked at the number of buttons and just resorted to his hands as per usual. Aziraphale let out a little puff of breath as the dick he’d just conjured on himself sprang free.

Crowley tilted his head at it. “That all you got?”

Aziraphale flushed. “Oh! Well, of course it’s no trouble to—” The dick gained a few centimeters of length and also considerable girth. A vein near the head pulsed purple, right near Crowley’s face, and Crowley had a fleeting temptation to lick it, but he had other things in mind. He raised one eyebrow up at Aziraphale, smirking.

“Not bad, love. But what I mean is,” he straightened up so they were eye-to-eye again, “we can have anything we want, do anything we want. We don’t have to confine ourselves to _human_ bits.” He yanked his own zipper open, and a mess of tentacles burst out of his leather pants.

Aziraphale’s jaw dropped for a second. But he recovered quickly (he was not a prude!) and rolled his eyes. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Crowley, really?-” before he could go on, though, Crowley had stepped up to him and enveloped his new, generous cock in the tentacles. Aziraphale made a little noise of shock, and then went still, gazing over Crowley’s shoulder into nothing. “…Well that _does_ feel rather nice,” he said in a weak voice.

Just as abruptly, the tentacles were gone. “Just as an example,” Crowley explained, shrugging with practiced nonchalance, as Aziraphale gasped and tried to regain his composure. “I’m sure I can be more creative than that. Imagination has always been one of my strengths. Say I did something like this, perhaps—”

Aziraphale looked down and his eyebrows crept up. “Hmm, I see. And that might work nicely with—” he handily transformed the new dick, folding the flesh in and around itself like origami. A couple more adjustments, murmuring encouragement to each other – “There you go, now you’re getting the idea,” Crowley said – and they had something pretty good.

“Shouldn’t we retire to the bedroom? It’s quite a bit easier horizontal—”

“Nahh, c’mon, live a little. Right here, right now. We’ll try it with rose petals and candles sometime later,” said Crowley. Aziraphale looked skeptical for a moment, but then one of his little expressions crossed his face, the ones he had when he was about to enjoy something naughty. Crowley grinned at him with all his teeth.

Aziraphale clung to Crowley’s shoulders as they pressed the somethings-good together, both of them breathing a little heavily now. Crowley’s hands crept into the back waistband of Aziraphale’s trousers, squeezing his ass, which Aziraphale did manage to keep humanlike at all times (he had opinions on asses.)

“See, now, _this_ is a good use of miracles,” Crowley said, a tongue that was a little too long to be natural sliding up the side of Aziraphale’s neck. “Ugh, you’re still such a serpent,” Aziraphale chided him, fondly. He hitched a leg around Crowley’s waist, undoing gravity’s effects on his body just a little, just to make it easier to balance on one foot and let Crowley hold him up by the behind. Aziraphale’s pretense of objecting to using miracles purely for personal reasons had expired a while back. They had been in love for quite a while, but only started spending this much time together in the last few hundred years; they still were working through a long list of bodily pleasures to enjoy together. Aziraphale was aware that humans these days looked more favorably on pleasures of the ingesting type versus this kind, but who was to say with them; they might change their minds in the next fifty years and suddenly start thinking eating rich foods was more risqué than tentacle sex.

(Crowley was more with the times: he knew more than Aziraphale about some of the effects Famine had been having on the world recently, and that in some ways, in some places, eating rich foods- or at least carbs- _was_ just as risqué as tentacle sex. In fact, even as they moved together sweatily, he had a fleeting thought about having some pasta later, and involuntarily morphed one part of his genital area into a campanelle-adjacent shape. Aziraphale made a little “mmm!” of approval.)

“This is exquisite,” Aziraphale gushed, through pants of breath. “We should have tried this long ago. I _knew_ you would be good at it.” He was remembering how to do this kind of pleasure, how to let it build slowly over time until, maybe in an hour or so, it reached a climax. (Was it still being called “a little death” among the literati?) He just had to figure out how to do it with this new physiology.

Crowley, contrary to his self-image, was not as experienced at Aziraphale at this kind of pleasure. The acceleration had rather gotten away from him. “What kind of a demon would I be,” he began, his voice strained, “if I wasn’t top-notch at carnal – mmm – angel, I think I – shit.” He tossed his head back and let go of a luxurious, self-indulgent, animalistic yowl. Their different assorted tubes and corkscrews and spheres inside of hyperspheres swelled and vibrated together, reacting off each other’s reactions. It was very nice for Aziraphale, and Crowley feeling that good was a beautiful sight, but he wasn’t anywhere close to finishing. He sighed, but smiled indulgently at the demon, giving him a little caress between his shoulder blades as he started the process of disengaging. That is when he found that his new parts were covered in a thick, sticky green substance. And his entire abdomen. And quite a lot of his pants, which they’d left half-on for extra naughtiness factor, a decision he was regretting.

Crowley blinked in surprise at Aziraphale’s sticky body and ruined pants. He decided he should pretend that he knew this would happen. “What’s the matter, love, you don’t like it?” Okay, that didn’t work; Aziraphale was still staring at his stomach and ruined pants with shock and dismay. Crowley rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean, whaddid you expect with all the, you know, that’s what they do,” he said, gesturing vaguely at his crotch.

“These trousers are dry-clean only,” Aziraphale muttered to himself, sadly.

“Fine,” Crowley huffed, and miracled away all the green stuff. It aerosoled a bit, and he had to cough and wave it away from his face. He’d have to pay more attention to all the little internal glands in the future. “There! Your _trousers_ are presentable again. So pull them up, we’re going out to have pasta.”

Aziraphale brightened immediately.

“That really was delightful,” Aziraphale said to Crowley later, quiet and conspiratorial, leaning close over his gnocchi at the little table in the Italian bistro, as though all the other patrons couldn’t already tell they had just fucked. “I hope you’ll want to try it again sometime. Maybe, if you’re feeling up to it - tomorrow night?”

Crowley smiled around a bite of campanelle. He’d been monitoring the traffic in the restaurant’s W.C., and was about to talk Aziraphale into nipping in there together for a quickie before dessert.

**Author's Note:**

> Title’s from the [song by the Breeders](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tUiP5eyx3NM#action=share), a definite plus on any Aziraphale/Crowley playlist.  
> “Best superpowers for banging” is a popular annual panel at WisCon.


End file.
